


Not Like The Movies

by kristen999



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Drama, Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristen999/pseuds/kristen999
Summary: The Five-0 badge might mean thrilling car chases and epic shootouts across island rooftops, but it also means paperwork. Lots of paperwork. And sometimes bullets.





	Not Like The Movies

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while. 
> 
> Thank you to Imaginary_iby for her lovely beta and suggestions!

***  
_The Fine Print_

Police recruitment brochures featured men and women in blue sporting smiling faces, conducting community service, protecting the public. It highlighted service, although it failed to mention the bureaucracy. 

If police work could be broken down by the number of hours of in the day, one third belonged to paperwork. And if you were part of the governor’s elite taskforce, add an additional hour. Danny pinched his nose as he tried to read his crappy penmanship.

A knock on his door provided him with a much needed distraction. He looked up and waved Tani inside, who waved a file around. 

“Dude, what is this?”

Danny squinted at the blurred letters. “The tow paperwork from this morning’s bust?”

“No.”

“The fingerprint card from the suspect? You know that needed to be turned in after the arrest.”

“Nope.”

“Evidence seizure form?”

“No, it’s not.” Tani strode inside and slapped the file onto Danny’s desk. “It’s my hand-written statement. Emphasis on hand.”

Danny leaned back in his chair and made a dramatic show of looking at his own hand-written statement. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s 2018.” Tani threw up her hands. “Why the hell do I have hand-write my statement just so someone can put a time stamp on it before I waste another half hour typing the very same thing? You know, the digital copy required by court?”

“Because that’s what HPD uses.”

“But we’re Five-O, I thought…”

Danny waved his finger at her. “Steve is playing nice with Captain Kahue.”

“Playing nice? Since when does McGarrett play nice?”

Oh, the sweet naivety of rookies. 

“He plays nice with Vice, the DEA, Homicide; he even helped S.W.A.T get a bigger slice of the pie of this quarter’s ammo budget.”

Tani’s eyes grew large. “McGarrett?” She hooked a thumb behind her. “Our boss plays politics?”

“All the time. It’s the only way not to ruffle so many feathers when it comes to rule breaking everywhere else.” Danny shrugged; grateful he didn’t have to. “Not to mention how often the press covers our cases on the nightly news vs. any other department combined. It’s good inter-department PR.”

“Huh. I guess that’s helpful.”

“Not to mention how often we need every department’s help in prosecution and back-up.”

Since Tani had spent more than two minutes inside his office, it attracted the attention of the other newbie. Junior wandered over to stand at attention inside the door jamb. 

Tani didn’t pay him any attention. “Okay, so forcing us to do more paperwork is fine, but why does he have to be such a dick about type-o’s?”

Junior snickered behind her and Tani elbowed him in the arm. “Seriously, it’s like getting graded by the most nit-picky college professor.” 

“Which paperwork?” Danny asked.

“My monthly supply requisition.”

Junior looked like he was about to bust a gut, so Danny gestured at him. “I think a fellow member of the military could better explain such OCD behavior.”

“Paperwork is a way of life in the Navy,” Junior explained with a shake of his head. “Notes on briefings, debriefings, after action reports. You have to fill-out a form for everything, even the paper clips.”

“So, do we,” Tani argued. “Did you see the daily logs we have to keep on our vehicles? It’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but military forms are so anal, everything had to be filled-out in triplicate. We kind of eat and sleep rules and regulations.” 

Tani grabbed the file she’d slammed on Danny’s desk and waved it at Junior. “These are additional notes I just wrote, which according to procedure, I have to refer to when I _hand-write_ my statement. I already have my Evidence Action Book, the little notebook I scribble in when I’m at the scene, the one I have to take to court because they’re the _freshest_ notes. Yet, I have to re-write them in my statement which I still have to type up!”

Danny took a sip of his coffee as the two rookies realized that part of the job was mindless, paperwork that their rule-breaking boss actually enjoyed on occasion, if only because Steve was used to it. Then Steve would hand-off anything he didn’t finish to Danny if he had a meeting during the day.

Because other than paperwork, Steve spent a lot of time in meetings, almost six a week, which did not even include internal-department meetings with his Five-O teammates. 

Danny cleared his throat since Tani and Junior had decided to argue who had the most red-tape and waved at them. “Um, just a friendly reminder that you have half an hour to finish up your statement before our weekly drill.”

Junior looked like he’d just been told about a test he hadn’t prepared for. “Which one?”

“The close quarters’ combat one?” Tani asked.

Junior snapped his fingers. “I think it’s the one on pipe bombs.”

“I don’t know,” Danny replied.

Tani quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“I never know.”

“But Commander McGarrett sends out a monthly schedule.”

Danny blinked at Junior. “Um, yeah, I don’t read those. Nor do I read his weekly exercise challenges or the power-point presentations from various weapon’s seminars.”

“Except for the one he teaches,” Tani said with a smile.

“Except for those, you are correct.”

“So, how do you prepare for his drills?” Junior asked.

“I don’t. And that is the best way to be ready for anything in this job.”

Danny leaned back and watched the two newbies exchange knowing looks before leaving his office. Then he stared at his horrible scrawl and sighed. He hoped he didn’t need glasses, because no, he would not admit to that small defeat.

His phone rang and Danny picked up, Steve’s annoyed voice at the other end. “I’ve got to get a sworn affidavit for a wiretap to Judge Iona by this afternoon.”

“Okay, I’ll call the D.A. and update them on the case.”

“Tell the kids we’ll have to reschedule the knife skills training.”

“Knife skills, got it.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Steve asked.

“No, in fact Junior will be very disappointed,” Danny deadpanned.

Steve paused like he wasn’t sure if he believed Danny. “Did you want to grill-out for dinner later?”

“I prefer real food, but I would not be opposed to steak.”

“Oh, and could you fill out the requisition form for the radar equipment on the Camaro? I was supposed to turn it in yesterday.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “You mean the new radar you had installed without asking first?”

“Yeah.”

What he did for this man. “You better buy a good bottle of wine after you go to court.”

***  
_Hidden Corners_

 

After all the police chases, of hunting down bad guys, of rescues, and arrests, was the aftermath – and the trauma.

The resulting adrenaline dump came with the shakes, when Danny’s hands trembled and it was harder to draw air into his lungs. The relief that he was still alive, that he hadn’t killed someone a heavy weight across his chest.

Given the number of large criminal organizations and nasty characters the team had taken-down over the years, firing his weapon was not uncommon. It was the reason for all the extra training and drills. But sometimes, _some_ days, a shooting could be an anxiety-filled nightmare. 

If he encountered a suspect and didn’t react quickly enough, he could die or Steve could die or anyone on his team could die. But if he shot too quickly, the media could portray him as being unnecessarily brutal. 

There was a reason why the numbers of sick absences among the HPD was not for things like colds or the flu. They were on the frontline for daily conflicts and so much violence. 

Entering dangerous situations, violent households, robberies in progress, engaging in hazardous car chases. Witnessing acts of terrorism and murder. Working with traumatized victims of crime.

It could get to you, even to the most seasoned cop, or Navy SEALs.

Danny waited until a member of HPD cleared him to leave the scene before he walked around. It was part of another make-nice policy even though the task-force had immunity and means. 

His hands hadn’t stopped shaking.

He watched Steve as he finished up with his own interview then walked over, his steps heavy, his face drawn. Kidnappings were gut-wrenching cases with little to no sleep or real food. For every save, there were dozens that ended badly.

Tonight was a win. Except for the conditions of the crime scene, the sobs of the six-year-old Danny held until the ambulance arrived along with a member from child and family services. A counselor from HPD hovered near-by.

Danny felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, Steve watching him with worried eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Because Steve was good at reading through Danny’s bullshit.

No, not really. Nothing a beer or ten wouldn’t help, or a long weekend with sleep, or maybe a combination of both. 

Steve squeezed Danny’s arm. “I could make us both an appointment with support services.”

Danny blew out a long breath. He’d rather pull his teeth out, because what would it change? 

But he wasn’t a fool, over time; constant stressors could cause mental health problems. And given how often he worried over Steve’s, it was only fair they took advantage of the department’s provided help. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Monday sounds good.”

***

_Watcha Gonna Do When They Come For You?_

On the first Monday of every month, Danny accompanied Steve to the State of Hawaii’s Legal Services Division. Danny went for moral support, but more often than not, to provide written statements in support of the team’s defense. Well, mostly Steve’s defense since he was the main person named in most documents. 

They were on first-name basis with their legal representative, Lahela Oda. Danny was pretty sure she kept a bottle of liquor under the desk during their visits.

“Commander,” Lahela greeted formally. 

She always smiled at Danny which annoyed Steve. Danny gave her his most charming smile in return. 

Steve took a seat across from Lahela’s desk, crossing his arms over his chest. It didn’t help that Steve referred to these visits as the Inquisition, but he always behaved for the most part. Another reason why Danny came along.

Lahela pulled out a thicker than normal stack of folders. “Shall we begin?”

Sometimes when a person has had a bad experience with the police, they tried to sue them. The attempt had to go through legal queries; hence why Lahela treated their meetings like they were God’s punishment. 

“On the 14th, Mr. Kim Sessions, a freelance videographer filed suit against the HPD and you, Commander for…” she scanned the document. “For following your order to stop filming an arrest you made.”

“That’s correct.” Lahela stared at Steve through her green-rimmed glasses. “He interfered with the investigation three times.” Steve shrugged. “And he was a scumbag.”

“He’s seeking financial compensation from not being able to sell the video.”

“Then maybe he should find another career.”

Danny winced, but Lahela took it in stride. 

“Mr. Sessions refused a direct order from a police officer,” she said, scribbling some notes. “Okay. Moving on.”

These meetings were about jumping hoops. Crossing T’s and dotting I’s. Their immunity and means fast-tracked them through legal suits and claims, granting the team protection from prosecution in civil and most legal matters. But it was still annoying and Danny sympathized with the amount of red-tape they created for a single legal representative. The other one quit last year. 

“Omar Lopez filed suit over the freezing of his bank accounts.” Lahela cleared her throat and waited. 

“Money made from the manufacture of meth,” Danny filled-in-the blanks. 

“Right.” Lahela flipped through additional papers. “Larry Huntsman wants compensation for the destruction of his hot dog stand which has resulted in the loss of a month’s income.”

“A month?” Steve sat up, incredulous. “It’s a little cart, how long does it take to order a new one?”

“He’s also suing for severe emotional distress.”

“For what?” Steve demanded.

“Because you used his hot dog stand for mobile cover during a fire-fight with a gang, resulting in over fifty bullets holes. He says the smell of pickles causes him to have flashbacks.”

Steve shifted in his seat and looked over at Danny for guidance, of which Danny had none. At least it hadn’t been a fiberglass surfboard. Although he doubted they would be able to visit any of the near-by food trucks for a while. 

“Moving on,” Lahela said. “Let’s see, only three filings over property damage. You must be off your game.”

Danny rested his hand on Steve’s arm when he opened his mouth to say something.

“Oh, here are my favorites.” She took a sip of her coffee which may or may not have contained whiskey. “Two excessive force claims which includes two for physical injury, and oh wait. One claim of extreme and outrageous conduct.”

Steve fidgeted. 

“Do I need to go over the parameters for such a claim again?” Lahela quirked an eyebrow.

“No, ma’am.”

Wow, Steve was pulling out the ma’ams. Danny raised his hand and Steve glared at him. “It’s conduct that is considered extreme and outrageous, and goes beyond all possible bounds of decency.”

“Thank you, Detective Williams. I feel like if Commander McGarrett hears the definition enough, he might learn one day how to avoid being accused of being a menace to society.”

Steve clenched his jaw, the vein along his neck protruded more than normal. 

Danny rubbed his foot up and down the side of Steve’s leg, nice and calm. Danny would take Steve to lunch after this; maybe even offer him a quickie in the back of the Camaro. Positive reinforcement for good behavior. 

Watching Steve’s shoulder slowly relax, reminded Danny the real reason why he attended these. 

 

***  
_Not How it Occurs on TV_

 

Why did everything have to take place in warehouses? 

Unlike the movies, people didn’t stand out in the open and calmly fire at the bad guys. Avoiding getting shot was important to survival. Cars made good concealment; they were useful at stopping bullets. The large white cargo van made even better cover. Hiding his body from people trying to put holes in it was an excellent plan. 

Being pinned down was a bad thing. Danny didn’t need expensive military training to know that he and Steve were in a bad situation. They were outnumbered, thus, they were being fired upon by a greater number of people. More bad guys and more bullets meant the bad guys could close in and surround him and Steve and kill them. 

It was all very logical. Of course accurate fire was also helpful. 

Every time a bad guy popped out from their cover from behind metal containers, Steve shot them. In the leg, in the shoulder, typically center-mass because Steve was a very good at what he did.

Danny had pretty damn good aim too, given how many of these situations he’d found himself in. One by one he and Steve dwindled down the number of drug dealers. 

But going from twelve bad guys to six still meant they were out-gunned. That was when training came in. 

See, Danny knew to remain calm during a fire-fight; and Steve, well Steve kind of excelled at it. And people who were not used to being shot at, even drug dealers, could be intimated by a fire-fight. From the deafening sounds from AK-47s and M6s and the horrible, heart-pounding chaos of a goddamn gun battle. 

Training was critical to survival. Someone who has been trained to be aggressive was less likely to be intimidated by enemy fire. It was why having a damn SEAL as a partner could be so useful. Steve wasn’t intimidated by much and while his confidence under fire could be misinterpreted as elitist by others, the quality of Steve’s training allowed him and Danny to overcome crazy odds. 

A bad guy was still a civilian and much more likely to be intimidated by a gung-ho Navy SEAL who knew that lobbing a grenade would scare the hell out of bunch of asshole meth-pushers. 

Danny covered his ears before the booming explosion. Then he nodded at Steve and the two of them moved away from behind the cargo van in search of survivors.

Training his weapon in front of him, Danny watched two suspects as they tossed their weapons to the ground and took-off back of the warehouse. There was one dumb asshole remaining.

“Fuck, dudes,” said Asshole muttered. “You two are crazy.”

“Lower your weapon,” Steve ordered.

Danny covered Steve as the lanky guy kept his AK pointed toward the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, Jesus.” The guy dropped the rifle and held up his hands. 

Steve glanced at Danny, a two second meeting of the eyes as they communicated each others’ intentions. Danny kept his the suspect in view as Steve stepped closer, and kicked the rifle out of the way.

Danny caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A blur to his left. He shouted a warning as a second suspect came around a metal container and fired.

Bullets traveled at over a thousand feet per second. By the time you heard the sound, it had already been fired. 

Danny watched Steve’s body spin from the impact. Danny swung his aim and fired at the second suspect. The lanky guy took off during the shoot-out, but Danny ignored him. He bent over and rolled over the asshole he’d just shot and handcuffed him. He was dead.

Panting, Danny ran toward Steve who was struggling to sit-up.

Danny knelt beside him, scanning Steve with his eyes. Head, neck, chest. Okay, okay. Those areas looked fine. “Where were you hit?”

“I’m…” Steve looked down at his body, his brow furrowing in confusion. “My right shoulder…”

Danny noticed the blood dripping down Steve’s forearm and onto the cement. His heart pounded. “Okay, let’s get your vest off.” 

Danny quickly undid the tabs, removing the TAC vest, letting it fall to the ground behind Steve. He ran his hand over the front of Steve’s shoulder. Steve winced, but there wasn’t a hole in his chest - Danny leaned Steve forward, but there wasn’t a wound in his back either.

“Danny…”

Steve’s thick tone of voice sent a cold shiver down Danny’s spine. Then he noticed the amount of blood coating Steve’s arm. 

“Shit.” Danny pulled out a pocket knife and made several slits in Steve’s t-shirt, removing the shirt sleeve. 

His hand came away slick with blood. That’s when Danny noticed the hole in Steve’s bicep. There wasn’t an exit wound. More blood coated Steve’s side and over his pants leg. Fuck.

“I think it hit a vessel,” Steve said, his voice tight. His face had already lost most of its color.

“Yeah, but we’re going to fix that.” Danny pressed his hand against the wound. Steve groaned. “I’m sorry.”

He needed to call a bus, but he needed to stop the bleeding.

“My kit…” Steve said, sucking in a breath. “Inside my kit.”

“Okay, but you need to keep adding pressure.”

Steve wrapped his fingers around his arm and dug his finger into a spot above the wound. “Brachial…artery,” he said, panting.

“Good, good.”

Danny searched the little pouch Steve kept with his vest, dumping the contents onto the ground. “How are we doing, huh? Talk to me.” Finding one of the big bandages, he ripped it open and returned to Steve’s side.

Steve was no longer sitting up. He’d fallen onto his back and shit, no, no, no. 

Danny scrambled back next to him. Steve still maintained a death grip around his arm, blood dripping down his hand and pooling onto the ground beside him. His eyes were squeezed closed with pain.

“I’ve got the supplies.” Danny pressed the bandage over the wound, but it quickly seeped through with red. 

He would not panic. Danny breathed through his nose and out his mouth. The rate of blood loss scared the hell out of him.

“You’ve…got…to…” 

“Yeah, I’ve got to tie a tourniquet.” Danny didn’t have a choice. 

Despite how weak Steve’s voice sounded he still kept his thumb at the brachial pressure point which was doing more good than Danny’s useless bandage. 

Standing, Danny grabbed one of the bad guy’s duffle bags and dragged over. He propped Steve’s legs up to help increase blood flow to his vital organs.

“Come on, talk to me babe. Tell me how I’m doing this wrong.” 

Danny grabbed the nylon tourniquet from the kit and when he returned this time, Steve’s other arm had gone slack and he was no longer applying pressure to the artery point. “Hey! Stop that! I thought you were a tough as nails, pain in my ass, stubborn Navy SEAL?” 

Using the tourniquet was like using a seatbelt. He wrapped it around Steve’s arm above the wound and pulled it tight…but not too tight. Using the hook, he buckled it in place. But he knew it his bones it wasn’t enough. 

“Now would be a good time to tell me you have some classified medical miracle hidden in your kit.”

But Steve didn’t give him a smart-ass reply. Danny touched clammy Steve’s face, pressing his finger along his pulse, finding the thready beat. “Don’t you dare give up on me, you asshole.”

Pulling out his cell phone, Danny dialed 911 and put it in speaker as he searched the rest of the supplies. There wasn’t any Quick-clot; this wasn’t one of Steve’s military-grade medical kits.

He grabbed another bandage and wrapped it around Steve’s arm and held it tight. “Come on, babe. Please, fight. Don’t do this to me.”

Danny squeezed his hand, applying pressure, imagining how his fingers prevented every precious drop from spilling out. If he moved Steve it could kill him, if he didn’t move him…

He sucked a breath, tried to calm his racing heart. The EMTs were on the way, the 911 operator kept giving him updates even though he wasn’t responding. Five minutes out.

Blood soaked through the second bandage. But it took a few minutes. That was progress. Danny would cling to it.

“A bullet to the arm, really Steve? How many times have you been shot in the arm? I think you have a punch-card for it.”

But the human body was precious. It broke easily. There was no such thing as a simple GSW.

His chest ached, his head spun, he wanted to throw-up. There was so much blood volume, so much for such a small little hole. But it was the damage hidden underneath ….

He applied the next bandage, wrapped it tight, and kept his fingers curled around Steve’s arm. He wanted to pull Steve into his lap, wanted to cradle him, hold him, but he couldn’t risk a moment of comfort if it meant losing one more moment of keeping Steve breathing, keeping him alive.

Three minutes out.

Steve’s chest kept moving. “Keeping doin that, keep breathing. In and out,” Danny said, loudly drawing air into his lungs as if hearing it would encourage Steve to keep doing it. 

Danny adjusted the weight on his knees, rested his other hand over Steve’s chest, over the lub-dub-lub-dub of his heart. “Yeah like that, just like that.” He hand ached from keeping the bandage in place, but he just held on tighter.

 _One minute out_ the 911 operator told him over the speakerphone. He heard the sirens as they approached. 

“I’ve got you, Steve.”

***  
_At The Fork; Go Straight_

Recoveries consisted of a lot sleeping. Even when the person didn’t want to admit it. Danny made sure Steve took a nap when he got home from the hospital and fed him hearty soup and warm bread. 

After lunch, Steve sat on the sofa and stared at the TV. It wasn’t turned on.

Danny couldn’t help the smile that escaped his lips. The pain pills had kicked in. There would be another nap in the future. He filled a glass of water and set it on the coffee table and sat beside Steve. 

“If I drink any more water I’m going to have to go to the head again,” Steve complained, his voice floaty.

“Well that’s the reciprocal relationship between us and water.” Steve’s face scrunched up in confusion and Danny patted his knee. “Keeping hydrated is good for healing.”

Steve moved his head like it was on the slowest pivot and blinked owlishly at him. Danny continued patting his knee. “It’s okay, babe. I know verbal communication can be a challenge on your best days.”

Danny’s gaze strayed to the blue sling that hid healing muscle and fractured bone. His chest still ached at the sight. 

Steve must have sensed his mood because he patted his hand in return. “Let’s watch a movie.”

Danny looked up at Steve and took in his attempt at smiling, only the left side of his mouth curled into a grin. “Sure. We’ll even watch Top Gun.” 

Of course Steve didn’t make it past the first scene, even with the all the jet engine noise. Steve’s head lolled onto Danny’s shoulder and Danny held Steve’s hand until it was time to go to sleep.

“Come on,” Danny said, leading Steve to bed.

Corralling Steve on painkillers was like shepherding a lamb, both tended to wander without gentle nudges in the right direction. 

Danny helped Steve out of his clothes and into a pair of sleep pants, ensuring he didn’t jostle his arm. Then he helped remove the sling, ignoring the cast that took up the upper limb. 

“I’m sorry, Danny,” Steve mumbled as he climbed into bed. 

The apology was a stab to Danny’s tender heart. “Hey. There’s nothing to be sorry about. You understand me?” Because every moment he cared for Steve helped to erase a moment in which he couldn’t, back in that awful warehouse. 

Steve settled onto his back and Danny curled up beside him, savoring the warmth of his body, the feel of being close to him. Whole and alive and breathing. Danny wanted to capture this moment and hold onto it forever.

“Danny?”

He kissed Steve’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

“I’m not going to be able to return to work for a while.”

Danny scooted closer and traced a faint scar on Steve’s shoulder; it was older, from a time with the SEALs. This most recent bullet had fractured Steve’s humerus, damaging tendon and muscle. It would take weeks of rehabilitation to get back to full strength, let alone pass the tests to regain field status. But a positive attitude was needed to heal. 

“It’s going to take some time. But you’re like Wolverine, babe.”

“And If I don’t?”

“Don’t what?”

“Heal like Wolverine.”

Danny’s heart clenched at the remote possibility. Steve would need to be at 100% to return to full status. 99.9 wouldn’t cut it. “Then we’ll take it one day at a time.”

Steve released a heavy breath. “I’m… I think I’m okay with that.”

It took a moment for Steve’s words to register inside Danny’s brain. “You are?”

“Yeah.”

“But that means…”

“It means; I’ll spend every night beside you.”

Danny closed his eyes as moisture ran down his face. 

“Danny?”

“We need to talk about this in the morning, and the next day, and maybe the day after that. There’s no need to jump to conclusions.”

Because Steve needed to be sure that returning to work wasn’t the ultimate goal, _they_ needed to be sure. Danny’s hands began shaking, this time for good reason. 

Steve rested his fingers on Danny’s, stilling them. “I’ll kick ass in rehab, but I’m not jumping to conclusions. I decided the other day.”

Danny didn’t know if he could love Steve anymore than he did in that moment, but he had a lifetime to show him. 

***  
Fini-

Comments are ♥

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